


Sparklers for Candles

by zetsubonna



Series: Caquelon [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Ableist Language, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Birthday Sex, Established Relationship, Light Bondage, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 23:17:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2670086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubonna/pseuds/zetsubonna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ANONYMOUS ASKED:<br/>for lil steve's twenty-first birthday he wants to tie bucky's hands behind his back and ride him. bucky thinks this is the best thing ever. (bonus points for makeshift bondage with a shirt or something) *is so anon*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparklers for Candles

"You want what?"

Bucky’s grinning like Steve said something unreal or unbelievable, and maybe he did. He ain’t done this before. Screwing, yes, but not the same fella more than once by design and not coincidence. He’s never been one to blush, though, not out of embarrassment, nor has he ever been one to get shy asking for what he wants in the bedroom, so that ain’t happening, neither.

"I want-" Steve starts, but frowns at the delighted look on Bucky’s stupid face. "You heard me."

 

"I heard you fine," Bucky agrees, reaching out and grabbing at Steve, trying to pull him into a hug, a kiss, whatever it is, Steve struggles a little. Not that he’s mad, not that he’s changed his mind, he just gets hard on it when Bucky has to use a little more muscle and manhandle him. "C’mere, ya punk. Gimme a kiss."

He tastes like peppermint again. Where he keeps getting them, Steve don’t know or care, but goddamn, it’s nice. Cool and sweet, suits Bucky to a tee.

Their tongues move and slide against each other, and Bucky learns and remembers real good, he knows Steve likes it when his hands start on Steve’s waist, then reach back and grab Steve’s ass. There’s that squeeze, and the grind of Bucky’s hard cock into Steve’s belly, a little, possessive adjustment of his grip that feels like he’s wanting to spank, but Steve don’t tolerate that, so instead it’s down, down to his thighs. He yanks Steve up so quick and rough it makes Steve grunt, makes him shiver.

"You like that?" Bucky asks. It ain’t smug, not even a little self congratulatory, no, he’s so goddamned  _sweet_. This  _fucking_  man. Steve’s pinned up against the wall with his thighs on Bucky’s hips. Does he like it? Christ, what a fucking question.

"The Hell you think, Barnes?" Steve asks, sliding his hand down from the back of Bucky’s neck, over his chest. "We gonna do this or what?"

Bucky laughs, and that feels so good. His laugh when they’re out in the world is contagious, but the laugh he’s got when it’s just them alone like this? That’s something else again.

Steve’s dizzy with Bucky and he knows it. Wild horses couldn’t get him to say so, but not saying a thing don’t keep it from being. Bucky drops him on the mattress and he bounces just a little, and that probably oughtta hurt, but how’s he gonna think about a thing like his bones when Bucky’s peeling out of his shirt and Steve’s mouth is on his belly, nosing it as he watches Bucky unfasten his belt and drop his trousers? Stupid question.

"Want it, baby?" Bucky pants heavily as Steve runs his palm over the length of his cock and he smirks up at Bucky because yeah, yeah he does. "What do I gotta do?"

"Lock the door," Steve says. "Get the slick. Anything you don’t feel up to?"

"You know me, baby doll," Bucky says, his hand running over Steve’s hair. He can’t help nuzzling into it, doesn’t bother pretending he ain’t going to kiss Bucky’s palm and lick his wrist. "I’m easy."

Easy. Ain’t he just? Steve snorts a laugh, drops his hand, tears his eyes away just long enough to let Bucky start moving, then watches as he peels out of his own shirt, trousers and drawers. Avarice is a sin, Steve knows it, lust, too, and he never really considered why until this. Moving in together wasn’t their best idea. If Steve felt like this as often as Bucky’s made it clear he does, they’d die here, bills unpaid and work undone, but the tangle of their limbs and the hot collision of their skin is the closest Steve’s ever going to get to Heaven on Earth, so he ain’t about to complain.

"Pretty as a fuckin’ picture," Bucky sighs, so, so quiet, flicking on the radio as cover noise. He wouldn’t let himself see it for the longest time and half of these days pretends he still don’t, but Bucky looks at Steve in the sweetest way, like he can’t half believe his luck, and that’s the stupidest thing about Bucky: he don’t realize, or won’t admit, that Steve’s the one who’s lucky.

It’s hot, not just the hunger in Bucky’s eyes, but the whole room. Jokes about the dream aside, Steve never did like his birthday being in the charnel heat of summer, and that’s only better than the agony of Bucky’s back in March because the hitch in his lungs is heat and humidity rather than the ugly mix of industrial smoke and pollen from the park. But the sun’s gone down, the lights are low- Bucky turns them off on his way back- and it’s almost as cool as it’s going to get. It won’t really be comfortable,  not until just before dawn, and they can’t stay up that late on a Tuesday night, not even if every New Yorker who ain’t from Brooklyn will still be mourning for Gehrig tomorrow (not that Dodgers fans don’t care, they’re just quieter about it, for obvious reasons.)

So hot it is, and hot it’s going to stay, long, long after the fireworks have faded and the only pops and bangs left will be the trucks backfiring as they move to deliver milk, eggs, ice, papers…

But Steve’s birthday present, all damned near six feet of him, is back in arm’s reach, and that’s the end of every other thought. He wants. Bucky moves just the same naked as he does clothed, and he drops down and crushes his mouth over Steve’s, hands on either side of his hips on the bed.

"What do you figure?" he asks, as the Vaseline from the shoeshine kit by their battered sofa rolls up against Steve’s thigh. "Necktie? Shoelace?"

"Too narrow," Steve says. "Leave marks. Shirtsleeves."

"Hell," Bucky marvels, and Steve smirks. "How did I ever not notice you were like this?"

"Some laws I’m a little quieter about ignoring," Steve says, caressing Bucky’s jaw with the flat of his palm. His neck, his shoulder- Bucky’s like Greek art, a statue, a painting. Sometimes Steve wishes he could leave marks. His initials, here, here, here, clawed in with his nails like his signature on his own work. A kiss sucked into blooming, bursting capillaries on Bucky’s flawless skin. Proof of territory claimed, of parts conquered.

Bucky lies on his belly as Steve sits on his thighs, tying his wrists together with a shirt that needed washing anyway, so the wrinkles won’t matter. There’s knots, and then Bucky rolls over, and there’s a low groan when Steve straddles Bucky’s belly on his knees as he coats his fingers in slick.

"Put it in my mouth," Bucky says. "At least let me suck it, Christ."

"I’ll get mine," Steve declines, smug. Can’t help it. "That’s the idea."

"How the Hell," Bucky complains, "you gonna tie me up and  _not_  fuck my face?”

Steve laughs, because Bucky made the mistake a month or two ago of admitting while half-plastered that he don’t actually like cock-sucking or even high-diving _unless it’s Steve_ , and that’s gone straight to Steve’s ego. Bucky’s mouth is Steve’s indulgence. He makes himself earn it, and he hasn’t yet.

"S’matter, Buck?" He closes his eyes, leaning his head back. His voice is breathy, as one’s is wont to be when working two slippery fingers up one’s own ass and making an impatient lover watch and wait. "Lookin’ not doing it for you?"

"Little shit," Bucky grumbles, arms straining to get loose.

Steve puts his other hand in the middle of Bucky’s chest, pinning him, warning him not to move. “Let me take care of it,” he says, before his voice breaks and Bucky’s hips jerk. “You’ll be all right. Sides-“

"It’s your birthday," Bucky anticipates in a petulant growl. “‘Cept that ain’t it. You’re just in a mood."

"I can just do this," Steve offers, breathing hard. "I don’t have to-"

"I swear before God," Bucky says.

"That’s what I thought."

Bucky’s so cute and funny. Usually, Steve ain’t this chatty, but it’s making Bucky struggle between laughing and trying to break loose and pound him into the mattress, so Steve’s pleased. Bucky frowns real hard when Steve’s slick fingers curl around his cock, so Steve motions him upward with a nod, and Bucky curls, just as effortless as when they were in school. He probably does sit ups on the sly when Steve ain’t around, his belly’s flat enough to be a breakfast table.

Kisses. So many hot, wet kisses, their tongues flicker and their teeth scrape and click. Bucky refuses to screw if Steve won’t kiss him, it’s what he needs- kisses, talking, eye contact, this ain’t the back of a bar or some Navy Yard alley. Bucky ain’t just any fella, they ain’t going to pretend he is, and as for Steve, well-

"Stevie," Bucky sighs, hungry and low. "Stevie baby. My sweet baby boy. Baby doll. Steve."

He ain’t under any delusions neither.

Steve lingers just a little longer, smiles as he grazes their noses together and strokes Bucky’s cock again.

"We good?"

"Yeah," Bucky says, a goofy grin on his face. "Yeah, okay."

Steve’s glad he can’t see his own face. Bucky watches it, sprawled on his back, and when Steve’s eyes aren’t rolled all the way back in his head he can see Bucky holding his breath, the flex of his shoulders as he tries to be comfortable lying on his arms and not move so much he pushes up before Steve’s ready. The bob of his throat when he gulps. His thick, dark eyelashes are lowered, and he never takes his eyes off Steve, not for a minute.

"Baby," Bucky says, his belly twitching when he moves just a little bit and Steve’s settling to ride him. "That good? You feelin’ okay?"

"Bucky," Steve manages, struggling to close his mouth, to focus his eyes as he savors the slow stretch of his own body around Bucky’s cock. "B-Buck. Buh-  _Bucky_.”

He drops forward and rests the heels of both hands on Bucky’s shoulders, making sure he stays down, but Bucky’s shoulders ain’t the problem, his arms are good and tight, it’s his hips, the tensing of his powerful thighs, it makes riding him as much an exercise in Steve’s restraint as Bucky’s restraints, he keeps  _moving_ , just little ticks, little twitches, and he knows Steve’s body well enough to time them just right and send Steve into a fresh, hot sweat.

"Fuck," Bucky breathes. "Look at you. Goddamn."

"Buck," Steve whispers, his neck going slack as he moves on his knees. "Bucky, Bucky, God, Buck, Jesus Christ-"

Bucky hums sympathetically, but he doesn’t stop, and Steve can’t think, every impact of his backside and Bucky’s hips makes him shake, sends stars pinging around his eyes and fire simmering under his skin, and Bucky can’t do anything but twitch just the slightest bit and Steve’s so, so hot, so hot all over.

He sits back, goes to curl his fingers around his cock, and Bucky whines and thrashes until Steve pauses, huffing, to stuff pillows under Bucky’s shoulders so he can see, and then he gets back to riding Bucky like a damned horse while he strokes himself.

"Oh, Stevie," Bucky whispers. "Oh, Stevie baby. You’re so pretty. So fuckin’ pretty and you feel so good- don’t you? You like that?"

"God," Steve hisses through his teeth. "God, damn, shit,  _Bucky,_ Christ-“

"My baby," Bucky whispers. "Oh, my sweet baby boy. Yeah, Stevie. You take that. You take whatever you want, make yourself happy, baby. Mm, you’re so close, ain’t you? I can just about see it. You gonna come? You gonna come, Stevie?"

It’s wet and slick on Bucky’s belly when Steve falls on it, warm and sticky, and Bucky nuzzles the top of his head and laughs into his hair until Steve shoves come-slick fingers into his mouth to shut him up and he almost chokes in surprise.

"You wanted it in your mouth," he rasps, and Bucky snorts and sucks until Steve’s fingers are clean and he’s wincing while he tries to haul himself upright, but Bucky’s cock is still hitting him right where he likes it and he’s apparently making faces again, because Bucky’s practically purring.

"You gonna get off at some point?" Steve asks him, and taunting Bucky probably wasn’t wise, because that gets him more than he was ready for and his eyes roll back so fast he almost collapses again.

"Am I?" Bucky asks, sly, and Steve shakes his head to try and clear it, but that is not happening, not now that Bucky’s had a chance to plant his heels. It’s harder to ride a fella who ain’t laying there to take it, and Steve ends up bouncing a little harder than he originally meant to, but that’s okay, because Bucky comes pretty quick when Steve’s making desperate sounds, biting his chest and digging his nails into Bucky’s skin.

★

They’re sweaty, so fucking sweaty, and Steve’s almost a little sore, when some asshole down the road sends off a bottle rocket, and Bucky snickers into Steve’s hair where it’s plastered to his temple.

"Didn’t get enough at the Fair, I guess," he murmurs.

"That was a good show," Steve admits, too tired to pretend to resent it.

"Best fireworks New York’s ever seen," Bucky says, and then adds, "Not as good a payoff as 1918, though."

"You’re a sap," Steve yawns, kissing his nose and sliding off, shoving Bucky so he can get him untied.

"So’s flapjack syrup," Bucky says, smirking back over his shoulder. "But m’sweet on you."

Groaning, Steve smacks him.

**Author's Note:**

> takes place on July 4, 1939, and so references two important historical events: Lou Gehrig Appreciation Day and the 1939 World's Fair fireworks show


End file.
